


Remove All Doubt

by FieryEclipse



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Light Fic, M/M, Male Slash, Prompt Fic, Slash, dedication to a friend, post-season, this one's a present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9411572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FieryEclipse/pseuds/FieryEclipse
Summary: Peter has an appointment, but Sylar has other plans. He doesn't want Peter to leave, and if that means he has to drag someone else's name through the dirt, so be it...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Graysonation](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Graysonation).



> I want to dedicate this fic to Graysonation over on FFN. Thanks for your involvement and lovely, kind, inspiring words over all this time. I don't even want to think what it would be like writing fanfiction without you. Here's to another year! X)

“I've missed you... Yeah, I know, it's been too long...” Peter paces absently on the spot, looking at nothing in particular as he listens to the voice down the line.

 

“Right now? I'm, uh... at work.” The paramedic peeks over his shoulder just in time to catch Sylar's exaggerated salute directed at the phone. “Shift's almost over though, I can be there in half an hour.” He adds, turning away again and wandering further across his bright, airy, open-plan apartment. “Don't worry, I'll be there, okay... bye.” He ends the call and puffs out a breath, taking a moment to tuck away his guilt at lying before locating and shrugging on his jacket.

 

Sylar sighs and shuffles deeper into the couch, crossing his ankles over the far armrest. His book is raised in front of his face, but his gaze peers over the pages to track the other man's journey as he hunts down his boots. “Don't go.” He drawls languidly, knowing it'll be disregarded.

 

“I have to, she's only here a few more hours and I can't cancel again.”

 

Sylar grumbles half-heartedly to himself as Peter readies to leave him. He hates whenever the guy makes plans without him, especially when they're with someone who's... more than undeserving. He says nothing though as Peter pushes his feet over on the armrest to make room, perches on the edge of the couch and fumbles to extricate the insane knots that used to be his laces.

 

As he works, Peter can't help but allow the stupid nerves to flutter in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't look at the former murderer sprawled out comfortably over his furniture, but he's very aware of the man's legs against his back. “She's still not... happy about it.”

 

“She's not happy about anything that doesn't revolve around herself. Old news.”

 

Sylar sniffs casually, his eyes buried in the depths of his novel, unmoving. In his peripheral vision he can see Peter flick his hair out his face to survey him with a slightly disapproving look. “She's worried you'll corrupt me.”

 

“You know, I actually like the sound of that. Remind me to try it later.” Sylar hums, recalling the many times that he's suspected that exact same theory, only in reverse: that _he's_ the one being corrupted here.

 

He inches his eyeline above the unread page and onto his companion's expression. Quickly he sympathises with what he sees there, drops his book and reaches out to stroke the back of Peter's head. He combs the soft, dark hair soothingly with his fingers while the paramedic pulls his boots on and gets started on tying the laces. The guy's apprehensive, like he always gets before confronting a friend or one of his few (ahem, remaining) family members now that their secret is out. Sylar, though, is still too proud about it to care what they think.

 

“Just don't listen to her, Peter. What makes her think she can dictate what you do with your life? All high and mighty – she's hardly squeaky clean, herself!” Then Sylar smirks. It's evident from his voice alone that he's dawning onto a scheme of sorts here. “Although, now I come to think of it, they say a clear conscience is just a sign of ignorance... no _wonder_ Little Miss Indestructible thinks she's so innocent...”

 

Sylar suppresses a tiny snigger, feeling the sparks of amusement start to illuminate his funny bone. Peter glances up with a lofted, slightly chiding eyebrow. “That's mean.”

 

The watchmaker shrugs, nonplussed. “I might have changed my ways, but not the fact that I'm always right.” His playful smile grows when Peter ducks his head away from the big meanie who's saying meanie mean things about his precious niece.

 

Nonchalantly returning to his book, but not actually reading it of course, Sylar can feel Peter's morally-restricted sense of humour wanting to emerge but stubbornly refusing to do so. This only makes the hunter want to dig deeper for it, purely for the fun of it. “Better to keep quiet and be thought a narcissistic moron than to jump from a Ferris Wheel and remove all doubt...”

 

Peter releases a droll huff, chewing his tongue and finishing up his boots. “You're gonna have to do better than that, buddy.”

 

Oh, that can be arranged: Sylar is on a roll and has no intentions of slowing down, he's set his heart on this game now and won't give up until he's pursued Peter's reaction. He knows it's lingering just below the surface, just out of sight, just waiting to be tickled to life...

 

“Okay, okay, I'll admit...” He confesses, nodding his head in defeat. “Claire _is_ pretty special. I mean, how many people can both complain and single-handedly destroy the world at the same time?”

 

“I'm telling you, it's not gonna work.”

 

“Remember, Peter: if she asks for help, sometimes the best helping hand you can give is a good shove off a high ledge. Oh wait! She's already done that...!” Sylar laughs to himself now, letting it all out. His eyes scrunch shut and his head rolls back against the arm of the couch while deep chuckles bounce from his chest.

 

Peter gets to his feet and collects his work bag, failing to avoid setting eyes on that delighted, self-satisfied expression that he both wants to punch and caress at once. Despite himself, and the inappropriate topic that is no laughing matter, Peter wants to join in. He knows his expression would convey that Sylar won if only the man were looking, but he allows himself these few seconds anyway. It's just so nice to see Sylar relaxed and happy like this, to be cared for so much by that being. Peter still can't get enough of it.

 

But out of respect for Nathan's daughter, he rolls his eyes and drapes his bag across his torso, shoving Sylar's shoulder in passing on his way to the front door. “Nice try. But I'm still leaving. Don't wait up, I'm working after.”

 

Still laughing past blurry eyes, Sylar implores after the hand that hit him. He drops his book to the side and leans up, tugging Peter back around with his sleeve to keep him close. “Wait, wait, I'm sorry, you're right. But you'll like this next one, listen -”

 

“Behave.” In a split second Sylar catches it: a definitive, relenting smile – the prize he's been waiting for – before Peter Petrelli descends upon him, all gentle lips and grudging admission. It doesn't matter that Sylar never vocally got the acknowledgement (Peter's conscience means he would never laugh at someone else's expense anyway) because he still won. Plus, this is much more favourable than hearing it stated outright.

 

The two men kiss warmly for just a few, too quick, seconds, Peter allowing his concession to shine through the gesture. When he pulls back and remains leaning above the other man, it's now Peter's turn to initiate a smirk. “Was that your eloquent way of shutting me up?” Sylar pants, allowing the naughty, smug look from before to re-emerge on his features.

 

“It might've been.” Peter says seriously, re-affirming his grip on the back of the couch. For a second he just hovers there, so close... but he never returns to Sylar's mouth. Instead he just raises his eyebrows, pushes away and heads to the door again. “But it's for your own benefit.”

 

Sylar licks his now tingling lips and lets Peter go this time, having at least tried his best and satisfied the tips of his cravings. It'll be _just_ enough. For now. “Ha. I'd like to know how you came to that genius conclusion.” He calls and the other man stops briefly in the open doorway, shooting a telltale, crooked smile Sylar's way.

 

“Better to keep quiet and be thought a possessive jackass than to act like one and remove all doubt, right...?”

 

Damn him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you thought it was worth it! Thanks to Graysonation for the prompt ^.^ 
> 
> Prompt: “In Peter and Sylar's relationship, who do you think tells the terrible jokes, and who do you think is the one that rolls their eyes and makes fun of the other one for being a dork before kissing the s*** out of them?”
> 
> (Btw, this fic is a total AU from Tongues of Fire, if anyone was wondering. Yes, it's post-season too, but stands apart from that story.)


End file.
